


The Beauty of Flight

by madlypieced



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff and Angst, If you hold out long enough for the fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madlypieced/pseuds/madlypieced
Summary: In which Lena Luthor, who hates flying, learns about the beauty of flight—and letting go—from Kara Danvers.





	The Beauty of Flight

In retrospect, Lena didn’t expect to fall in love with Kara Danvers.

It’s a tale as old as time and as cliché as a romcom gone predictably awry and trite. They are two almost entirely opposite individuals in upbringing, profession, personality, among others. Where Kara is bright optimism that lights up the whole room, Lena is dark pragmatism that complements sober reality. Where Kara relentlessly and sometimes recklessly seeks the truth at all moments, Lena bides and waits behind research labs and board meetings until the right moment. Where Kara loves deeply and expresses openly, Lena hurts quietly and conceals methodically. Falling in love with Kara is a cliché, and Lena isn’t one for clichés.

“So, why do you hate flying?”

But Kara never really gives her a chance. Not with simple, sudden questions like this, that asks so little of her but demonstrate so much of Kara.

What begins as occasional interviews develops into regular news beats and into something of a routine, a weekly professionalism correspondence dinner at the local Chinese restaurant at the corner of Kara’s homey apartment complex. Or so Lena tells herself, when she realizes with a soft smile that these dinners have imperceptibly become the highlight of her weeks.

“I’m not sure CatCo’s audience is interested in a Luthor’s flight history,” she easily deflects. She distractedly twirls the straw in her half-filled cup of water, eyes scanning with the bill with unusual scrutiny. Lena isn’t sure what she expected when Kara asked her to an interview earlier today, but certainly not this. “Lacks topicality, wouldn’t you say?”

“Who said this was for CatCo?” Kara quips just as quickly, eyes unflinchingly looking into Lena’s when she slowly breaks into an amused smile. She looks at Lena with such innocent curiosity and befuddlement that Lena finds everything about the situation a little silly.

A silly question. A silly reaction. A silly answer.

Lena tilts her head and feigns a gasp. “Are you admitting that you lied to get an interview?”

“Are you done pretending to look at the bill?”

It’s a sharp, quick-witted response, not atypical of a skilled reporter, so Lena laughs. For someone as powerful as Lena, the associated reputation and intimidation leave little room for honesty and friends. No one she knows would dare speak to her the way Kara just did. But she remembers fondly that there only is one person like Kara.

“Trade secret,” she answers pointedly, leaving her credit card on the bill at last. The waiter quickly comes for the bill. “Next question.”

Kara’s face drops, but Lena knows the reporter in her hasn’t given up. “Lena, c’mon.”

It’s not a widely known fact that Lena hates flying. It’s a fact, but a well kept one, as it should be for a CEO of her stature. It’s statistically the safest and quickest way to travel—ideal for someone of her position and name—but she still hates it. It isn’t having to carefully plan her schedule around flights; it isn’t the feeling of her stomach rising and dropping alongside the plane; it isn’t even the idea of being trapped in a tin contraption barreling through the air at hundreds of miles per hour.

She supposes she’s never dwelled on the question for too long.

“I don’t know,” Lena eventually answers, hushed and subdued.

An irrational fear bubbles in her stomach, afraid to question and afraid of what she’ll find.

“Okay,” Kara purses her lips with a light, respectful nod.

They lapse into silence, as they wait for the waiter to return. It isn’t an uncomfortable silence. Kara’s respect for Lena’s privacy and vice versa has always been a staple of their friendship, budding out of professionalism and edging into something more real and ambiguous than Lena would like to admit.

The waiter eventually returns, and Lena signs the bill without a second glance. 

“Shall we?” Lena stands first, offering a hand to help Kara out of her seat.

Kara wordlessly latches onto Lena’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. It’s unnecessary; it’s unlikely Kara would trip out of her seat and require the extra support, but the touch isn’t unappreciated. Lena ignores the fluttering feeling in her stomach as a bad reaction to the vegan potstickers tonight. 

Once they’re in the backseat of her car, Lena motions for her driver, Arthur, to start the car.

“Should I have Arthur drop you off at Alex’s or—”

“Can I show you why I love flying?”

They speak simultaneously, but Kara’s words halt Lena’s.

Lena’s eyes narrow confusedly. “What do you mean?”

“You hate flying and you either don’t know why or you won’t tell me why and that’s totally fine,” Kara says, giving her hand another squeeze and a warm sense of comfort trickles inward. Lena hadn’t realized their hands were still in each other’s. “But I love flying. And I want to show you why.”

“Are you going to force me into a plane?”

Kara rolls her eyes and scoffs. “That’s cliché, don’t you think?”

Lena chuckles. So Kara isn’t one for clichés either. How fitting. “Alright, then what’s your original idea?”

“Trade secret,” Kara retorts smugly, adjusting her glasses. She pulls out a slip of torn paper from her coat pocket and hands it to Arthur. “If you will, please." 

“So, tonight’s interview was a Trojan horse.”

“I thought you realized Snapper stopped sending me to interview you weeks ago.”

Another smile.

“Yes, I asked him to.”

* * *

When Arthur pulls the car to a stop, Kara all too eagerly hops out of the car, hand tugging at Lena’s to follow suit. Their hands were intertwined the entire ride there. Lena isn’t sure if that was a distraction as she lost her sense of time, but it was welcomed with equal fervor.

“So, where exactly are we?”

Lena doesn’t know what to expect coming out of the car, but all she sees in her immediate vicinity is grass and the starry night sky. The breeze that blows at her confirms that they seem to be on top of a hill and the bright stars confirm they are far from the metropolis’ light pollution. Her arms cross instinctively, hands running across the goosebumps of her bare forearms, regretting the dress.

“The best spot in National City,” Kara answers vaguely with a grin, slipping her coat over Lena’s bare shoulders followed by a gentle squeeze. “Look over there.”

Lena’s eyes follow Kara’s outstretched arm, pointing downward at what looks to be a sea of black nothingness, save the small, glittering blues, greens, and reds methodically scattered that light up the area. When she hears the increasingly loud roaring engine zip past her and feels herself almost lifting from the ground from the sheer magnitude of the winds, her eyes widen in surprise. She finally registers that they’re staring at an airport.

From their high angled vantage point at night, it doesn’t look like the commercial gray and grime that Lena is accustomed to; instead, it looks like a galaxy of colored stars, a constellation of “welcome home” for thousands and millions of planes and people alike. 

“I—” Lena stops abruptly and inhales sharply at the realization that she has no words for once. No witty retort, no flirty comeback—no words for the journalist who continuously and endlessly intoxicates her through the simplest acts. In her twenty-something years of existence filled with glittering chandeliers and jewelry, finest cuisines from around the world, curated music by certified geniuses—she has experienced so many sensations, and none have overwhelmed her like this moment has. She wonders if this is what happiness feels like. With her hand firmly held in Kara’s, standing so closely that Lena can feel her steady breaths against her skin and her warm, awestruck smile that radiates for miles, as they look over an ordinary airport landing strip.

It’s all so silly, and it’s everything she never knew she wanted.

When Kara looks at her with her characteristic smile and squeezes her hand once more, Lena returns the smile and accepts that she’s okay being speechless.

She naturally thinks of what her mother would think, settling on the idea of her being an inarticulate embarrassment who was taught better than to let commonplace sights enrapture her. But then she thinks of Kara. Kara whose hand is still in hers, whose heart beats rhythmically, and whose simple acts of kindness continually enthrall her.

When another plane begins its descent and Lena’s dress begins its ascent, Kara laughs, reflexively plopping onto the ground. She tugs for Lena to follow.

“The coat should cover enough that you don’t get dirty.”

She would’ve followed regardless of rationale or cleanliness. “So, this is your favorite spot in all of National City?”

Kara nods keenly. “Somehow beats out our potsticker place, believe it or not.”

The “our” doesn’t go unnoticed, but Lena has far too many questions to fixate on diction. “Is this all show and no tell?”

“Sometimes, I think you should be a reporter instead of a high-flying CEO,” Kara scoffs. “Pun intended.”

“I can be both, Kara,” Lena jests. She recalls Kara’s generous understanding and proceeds to offer her own. “You don’t have to share. I’m grateful for this moment, for you sharing this place with me.”

Kara tightens her grip. Their intertwined hands feels so natural that Lena is mildly surprised. “You know how I was also adopted?”

Of course she knows. It was one of their commonalities that made Lena initially feel safe around Kara, around someone who understands deeply and truly.

“I was adopted in my early teens,” she continues. “I had so many memories of my family, memories that couldn’t just be erased by the gratitude and happiness of having a new family. Even if they were as loving as the Danvers.” Kara pauses and Lena knows all too well of the lump in her throat and the oncoming tears. “It hurt every time I looked at them, because I never—I never felt like I fit in. Because I remembered my original home and… it just hurt so much because, every time I looked at them… I was forced to accept that I could never have that home again.”

Lena’s breath hitches. She’s never seen Kara so vulnerable and she doesn’t trust herself to know what to do.“With the Danvers, I had a home, and I’m so grateful, don’t get me wrong.” Kara’s hand raises to swipe under her glasses. “But I never forgot my old home—how could I?—and my family and all those memories. So, it hurt. A lot. All the time.”

“Kara, I’m so—” Lena catches herself, because she knows she always hated it when someone else said to her the words she is about to say. Instead, she says softly, “Thank you for sharing.”

“You always make me feel safe, Lena.” The words feel genuine, and Lena isn’t sure how she should feel. “I originally came here because the loudness drowned out my thoughts when nothing else could. The noise and the winds overwhelm my senses, and I’m finally able to let go.” Kara’s eyes are no longer teary and her sentences grow in strength. “It’s poetic, if you think about it.”

“Educate me,” Lena says seriously, and Kara laughs dismissively. “I’m serious. I’ve never been much of a poet, I’m afraid.”

Kara nudges Lena’s shoulder, tilts her head toward the sight of scattered blues, greens, and reds. “There’s a system in all that madness—do you see it? Doesn’t it look like a constellation? Or some kind of galaxy?" 

She took the words right out of Lena’s mind. 

“Galaxies and constellations are chaotic, messy, too big to really care about any of us. But it almost looks like this big, messy world we live in cares enough to provide those lights to guide the planes and their passengers home,” Kara states. “But, if you think about it, those lights can be welcoming someone home to their families and loved ones, or guiding them onto a new journey to meet other loved ones and be part of other families.” She’s smiling now, but Lena can taste the bittersweetness coating her words. “It’s all a matter of perspective. And that’s how I accepted that the Danvers weren’t a replacement for my original family, but a complement, an addition, another family that I’m so lucky enough to be part of.”

Lena isn’t sure how to respond, and she certainly can’t fathom a sentence to somehow match the depth of Kara’s hidden sadness and sincere revelation.

“It’s okay to laugh!” Kara’s upbeat tone pulls her from her thoughts. “I absolutely sounded like a cliché just now.”

“Never.” The words come instinctively and defensively. Lena hopes she’s able to convey her gratitude through tone and action, as words never were her strength. “I just—you somehow render me speechless. Constantly.”

If Kara is blushing, Lena pretends not to notice. “Thank you for listening,” she replies with that bright smile and all feels right with the world. “We can head back whenever you want to. I know you’ve got work and, oh my, it’s so late!” She frantically searches for Alfred and their car in what little light there is. She moves to stand for a better angle, but Lena tugs at her.

Kara wordlessly sits back down, raising a brow.

“Well,” Lena pauses awkwardly, unsure of how to begin. How to be _vulnerable_. “I haven’t put much thought about why I don’t like flying… I’m more of a problem solver and I know when a problem is a lost cause, like this one. So, everything I’m about to say, it’s all conjecture so if it sounds silly—." Lena catches herself rambling, which is a rare moment that only occurs when she’s utterly, absolutely unprepared. Of course, only Kara catches—and is the reason for—this unique moment.

“Thank you for sharing,” is all Kara says, but it gives her the confidence to proceed.

“Flying is beautiful. That’s undeniable, especially when you consider the evolutionary aspects for different species that developed flight.” Lena internally groans. Science isn’t her ideal way of explaining her emotions, but science is all she knows. Kara only grins in what looks like met expectations. “But there’s unmistakable danger in it, too.

“How so?" 

“I’m not scared of the physical aspect of flying. There’s a 1 in 11 million odd of dying in a plane crash.” Rationale is her compass. “But, I think, I hate flying because I’m scared of it. I’m scared of what it _represents.”_

There’s a lump in her throat that she’s not surprised by. Her heart instinctively knows what’s to come before her brain can rationalize the emotions away. Kara’s gaze fixates on her, and those soft, understanding eyes source strength that Lena didn’t know she had.

So, Lena braves forward.

“Unless you’re the pilot, flying means placing absolute blind faith and reliance on someone else. You don’t know if or how well they’re trained. All you can do is _hope_ and _believe_ that they are, and that’s terrifying. Because they can fail you, and you can only blame yourself for trusting them and realizing too late that you were better by yourself all along.”

Her eyes are too glassy for her to see anything. Her hands are shaking like they did all those years ago when news first broke out. Her words skim the truth she’s avoided discussing in years and years of buried emotions threaten to unravel her at this very moment.

All she can think now is, _Why? Was I not enough?_

“Lex.” 

Kara confirms what Lena’s been too afraid and too ashamed to acknowledge.

“I _trusted_ him to be the model Luthor whose shadow I was damned to follow all of my childhood,” Lena almost yells. She hasn’t properly acknowledged her rage for his conduct until now, and she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to control it. “But I was fine with that, because he loved me and cared for me. I trusted him to be _that_ big brother and care for me like he always did. I trusted him to _love_ me enough to live our lives together, two screwed up children making it through a screwed up family. But all he did was _abandon_ me and throw it all away over some paranoia-induced _obsession._ ”

She pauses to see if Kara’s scared of her rage, as she rightfully should be. She feels her bloodshot eyes and her grounded teeth, but Kara’s eyes are still fixed on her, still gentle, still understanding.

“I hate flying because flying reminds me of Lex.”

It’s the first time she’s consciously acknowledged it, but the tight feeling encircling her chest confirms her speculation.

“I hate the idea of blindly trusting again,” Lena spits. “I never healed the first time, and I don’t have the time or heart to take any more chances. The next time it happens… I’ll break, I know it.”

As if on cue, her tears finally come through and she’s soon sobbing against Kara’s chest as the latter holds on tightly. Tighter than she ever has. It takes a few moments, but Lena continues, because if not now, then never.

“People…are scary. They’re complicated in ways that I don’t understand.” It’s as honest of a confession a scientist will admit. “People aren’t data. They aren’t nodes or wires or formulas that I can safely experiment with a slight margin of error. People are…”

“Complicated.”

“And they burn dangerously, bury deeply, and break irreparably.”

She would know.

Neither continues. Their hands have found themselves interlocked once again and Kara’s warmth is the only reason Lena hasn’t up and run, like her instincts tell her to. They don’t look at each other, focusing instead on the deafening planes and the constellation of colors guiding them home.

Much like Kara has for her.

Unintentionally, she guided Lena back to her home of memories where Lex still lives. Memories she chose to bury when the trial began. Memories she had no intention of ever admitting that they had permanently altered her life. Memories she wanted to kill but were only slowly killing her on the inside.

Her thoughts are briefly interrupted when she feels the weight pressed against her shoulder. Kara’s eyes are closed and her breaths are light and steady.

“Thank you for sharing.”

On most days, Lena can barely handle her own family’s weight, knees buckling, heels tripping, all threatening to shatter her façade.

“Thank you for guiding me home.”

But Kara’s weight is not additional pressure. It never was and never will be.

Lena still hates flying—it’s a fact. Neither Kara nor this moment will change that. But now she can see the beauty of flight. She imagines weightlessness and pictures constellations. She also thinks of Kara.

“And for reminding me of the journey ahead.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it till the end, thanks for putting up with what was a product of homesickness after moving to a new country. 
> 
> And, of course, SuperCorp feels that never seem to go away. Drop a line if you loved/hated it! Haven't written in a while, so all errors are mine - feel free to point them out.


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